Necessity
by Luna Lumen
Summary: Ao takes care of the dragon and makes sure he can survive without him.
1. Chapter 1

The enemy ranks are getting thinner, the corpses on the ground piling up. It's becoming more and more difficult to move without stepping on a body, the ground long since soaked in blood and lost body parts. This would be just fine in cold weather, but during the hottest days of summer it's the closest thing to hell the living could endure. They're all sweating, dehydrated, and a rancid smell is rising from the rotting bodies, making it hard to breathe without feeling the urge to vomit. This is not a good day for any battle.

Ao knocks his elbow into the chest-plate of an enemy stupid enough to try sneaking up on him from behind. The clang of his bare elbow knocking against steel makes his whole arm shake for a few seconds, but it doesn't distract him enough to stop him from pulling his other arm around and cutting off the head of the attacker. His sword is dripping with blood, the bandages covering his hands are soaked, and his mask is as good as painted red.

" _He's a demon, we can't- !"_

A quick slash takes care of the screamer, the sword easily cutting through the man's throat. The body isn't done falling as Ao starts searching for his next victim. The glare of the sun flashing off armour irritates his eyes, so moves in that direction.

While the enemy ranks are slowed down by their clunky metal and boiling inside their supposed protection, Ao is moving freely and only sweating from the exercise and heat. Yes, he is fighting alone against dozens of bandits, but his strength has not yet diminished enough for this to be a challenge. He can afford to not wear any protection, unlike his opponents.

" _Please, we didn't know, we di-"_

He stabs his sword downward, just through a gap between two metal plates meant to be protecting the man's heart. A feeble kick from the dying man makes him draw the sword out, killing him instantly.

" _Retreat! Retr-"_

The last of the bandits run away just as he snaps the neck of their coward of a leader, too scared by the fate of their comrades to continue. They might have thought in the beginning that overwhelming him with numbers would be enough to defeat him, but they were horribly mistaken. Ao just wishes they'd figured that out half an hour ago, because he has to look after a baby and nobody else is willing to help him, which means that the baby has been alone for approximately two hours by now. There is a good chance that the child is dead.

* * *

Except apparently the child is more resilient than he'd originally thought. Though he doesn't hear any sounds when he steps into the house, as soon as the little dragon sees him, the screaming starts. Smart.

"Hungry?" he grunts, tearing the blood covered mask from his face and reaching for cloth to clean his blade. When he doesn't find anything fitting he lifts the hem of his robe and uses that.

The boy looks at him, closing his mouth and staying silent, those cursed eyes wide and accusing. Sometimes Ao wonders if the boy can already use the dragon's powers, Ao certainly feels frozen whenever he sees those glowing orbs.

"Well, too bad." He gives the boy a sharp grin, making sure to display as many teeth as possible. "You're not getting anything until I've changed my clothes and cleaned my sword."

Ao has been taking care of the dragon child for a year now, and they've developed a certain understanding. The boy does as he's asked, stays silent and doesn't bother Ao, and Ao tries to keep hating him and being scared of him to show him how it's going to be like with the rest of the village once he's gone. Should Ao show him more than occasional kindness, more than the cruelty he will surely experience in the real world, the boy would become weak. He would be crushed under the hate, he wouldn't survive without Ao. The dragon child has to get used to it now, before it's too late.

The dragon before Ao had been weak, kind and caring. He'd shown Ao love, and made sure Ao was utterly unprepared for the overwhelming cruelty of the rest of humanity. He had made sure Ao would be affected by his death, but that he would still have hope that there was someone out there who would accept him. He'd almost broken Ao, but Ao was too strong. He found out very quickly what it was really going to be like, what he really was. The dragon child will not have to go through that, he will know from the start, and he'll be ready. Ao had promised.

"Ao," the child calls with a small voice, the first word he had learned to say. Ao can't describe the feeling he'd had when he'd first heard it. His chest still aches thinking about it, the pain spreading slowly to his limbs.

"What?" he manages not to snarl. Placing the mostly clean sword on the only table in the house, he starts ripping away the bandages around his arms. They're no longer slick with blood, instead they're now starting to become slightly crusty, which makes them difficult to remove.

"Okay?"

Ao stops. He turns to look at the small dragon, his eyes narrowing dangerously. At the blank look on the boy's face, he relaxes and resumes his previous actions, though slower this time. He needs to concentrate on this. Maybe the bandages can be used again. He's already mostly shredded them by now, but it's possible he could use them for something else. Wash them, dry them, sow them together. He doesn't look at the boy.

"Yeah." He lets the bandages slip to the floor, giving up. "It's not my blood."

Though he's turned away from the child, Ao can still feel the weight of his eyes, watching him, observing him. Ao feels trapped, as he often has in the last year. Adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, except now instead of fighting, he feels more like fleeing, getting as far away as he can, to get away from this _dragon_.

"Food?"

"I said _wait!"_

There's a moment of blessed silence, and Ao relaxes as much as he can, resumes his task. And then the child starts making a suspicious noise. Ao feels a headache building behind his eyes. His heart isn't working properly, something's wrong. It's beating irregularly and something is squeezing around it too tightly. He's dying.

"Ao!" the child cries out before breaking into pathetic sounding sobs, loud and unseemly.

It's too much.

Ao gets up and makes his way to the child, picking him up quickly and pressing him to his still blood covered chest. His muscles loosen, heart starting to work again, but the awful feeling remains. The villagers would never have picked the dragon up, would never have comforted him.

"Sorry," he says quietly, miserably. "I'm sorry, it's okay." But it's not. He runs a hand through hair as blue as his own and starts rocking gently, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. The child is crying freely now, chubby little hands holding onto Ao's hair and bloody robe tightly.

"Was I too loud?" He sits down on the floor, adjusting the child in his lap. "You'll have to get used to that, the villagers like to yell."

He stays quiet after that, offering comfort and body heat, which always makes the little dragon calm down. He feels defeat well in his chest, another failure. But he's trying, dammit! These things take time, he reminds himself, but the villagers don't care about that. They only see a monster, not a child that can hardly feed himself. They won't be like Ao, they won't break at the first sign of tears. He'll have to get stronger, learn not to react.

"We'll get some food for you, yeah?" His voice I gruff, rusty as though he'd been the one crying. The boy usually likes the vibrations though, placing his small fingers against Ao's throat and giggling. This time he doesn't, still shedding silent tears on Ao's shoulder, but considerably calmer than he'd been, relaxing the punishing grip he'd had on Ao's hair.

There's a bottle milk in the cooler which he has to take out and warm between his hands. At least the villagers understand that starving won't solve the problem, and so generously give them just enough food to get by. Just enough.

"Here," Ao hands the somewhat warmed bottle to the child, watching as the dragon drinks greedily. He's still growing, will be for the next several years. There's a very good chance that Ao won't even see the child all grown up. Ao can feel the power in his eyes dwindling, he's been losing his eye-sight ever since the child was born. At first he hadn't even noticed it, but by now he has to rely more on his other senses. The gradual diminishing gives him the opportunity to adjust to the change more than if it had just disappeared all together.

He's not sure which is worse, waiting for death while he can feel everything about himself get less, or just going in the blink of an eye.

(He wants to see the dragon grow up. He wants to _see again.)_


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2: The beginning**

Unsurprisingly, _disgustingly_ , the child's face has already been covered with a mask, hiding the golden eyes and red markings of the blue dragon. It's swaddled, fittingly enough, in a blanket that looks blue even in bare glow of light coming in from the open door. The night is quiet, and even the baby seems to understand that breaking this silence would be sacrilegious. Or maybe it's just asleep. So far, it has not moved – not that it would be easy to, with how tightly it has been wrapped up.

In favour of taking in the child that marks his imminent death, Seiryuu instead looks at the man who has brought him the message. His stance is uncertain and anxious, his jaw clenching nervously. The way he refuses to make eye-contact is typical, but the downward cast of his eyes is not distrustful as it commonly is when a villager sees him, but frightened.

"Lord Seiryuu," the man begins, his voice taut. He hesitates, then extends his shaking arms, presenting the babe. "I have brought you the new dragon."

A moment passes, during which neither of them moves, both because of the fear that is now wrapped tightly around their hearts. The man, terrified of the warrior in front of him, and the warrior, terrified of the babe. The child itself is harmless, but what it represents is less so. Hearing it spoken out loud, that the next few years would be his last, that the subtle draining of his power during the last year had not been a coincidence, is making things more real than they had seemed before. He wonders how long they waited before dropping the dragon off with him. At least three months, with the way his powers have been deteriorating.

Unsettled, Seiryuu looks down at the child being given to him, and feels fear trickle down his throat. If he takes this child now, he will be responsible for it until he dies. A sudden urge to laugh grabs him, making him snort out loud. For all they call him Lord, he is but a servant to this village, a slave – he has no right to refuse them, especially not in this.

The villager startles badly at the sound, and Seiryuu grabs the child before it can be dropped, barely knowing how to hold it. He cradles the head in a hand that looks enormous in comparison, the other supporting the body. A feeling of disquiet steals over him as he looks at the masked face, little tufts of blue hair so similar to his own barely visible from behind the blanket. His own mask is bigger, older, with big horns and cracks running across it. With relief, he notices that the child does appear to be sleeping.

"L- lord Seiryuu," the man starts again, stuttering.

Seiryuu raises his head to glare at him, making the man flinch back. "What the fuck are you still doing here." It less a question that it is a command, intended to make the man go away. Unfortunately, it doesn't work.

"Lord Seiryuu." This time, it's said with more confidence. It seems the dragon is not as threatening with a baby in his arms. Seiryuu smothers the urge to bare his teeth. "It will be your duty to take care of this-" here the man stops, grimacing. "-child, until he is capable of it himself, or you are no longer able to do so."

At this, Seiryuu almost snorts again. Until he is no longer able to do so, his ass. They both know he's going to die in a few years, with this new dragon draining him of every drop of power he has along the way.

The man must see the derision on his face, for he falters before speaking again, less authoritatively than before. "We will be providing you with supplies, of course."

Of course. Wouldn't want the dragon to die too young, otherwise they'd have to suffer one of their villagers birthing a new one. They'd care about the physical health, turning a blind eye to the emotional damage they were causing.

Seiryuu waits, but with nothing more forthcoming, he gives one last poisonous look at the villager, not that the intended recipient ever saw it, and slammed the door shut.

The child apparently takes offence at the loud noise – Seiryuu doesn't even have time to turn around before the bundle in his arms is screeching, cries slightly distorted by the mask. Not a second later, the sound of the villager retreating quickly can be heard. Typical. Seiryuu settles the child awkwardly in the crook of his elbow and makes his way to the bed, sitting down.

For a few helpless seconds, Seiryuu stares down at the wailing dragon. He does not know anything about taking care of children. He knows as much about interacting with them as he does about other humans, and considering that he is the village outcast, that is not a ringing endorsement.

After a moment of consideration, he reaches a decision. As he himself loathes wearing the mask he has been burdened with, taking off the tiny replica from the child is an obvious solution. Removing the offending object with a grimace, he is disheartened to see that his is not enough to stop the child's cries, though now its blotched red cheeks are in view, made uglier by the glistening of its tears.

"Stop," Seiryuu says roughly, though without hope that the command will work. Indeed, all it succeeds in doing is making the child's cries more pitiful. The edges of the blanket around its face are getting wet, which can't be comfortable. Seiryuu decides that he should remove the blanket also. Once again he reasons that since he himself does not like being confined, the child would also find it disagreeable.

He places the bundle on the bed, towering over the tiny figure uncertainly. This does not turn out to be a good idea, as the volume of the cries increases exponentially. Quickly, Seiryuu unwraps the blanket, freeing the tiny dragon of its confines. This is apparently also a bad idea. Seiryuu himself has forgotten what feeling cold is like, but the moment the child's bear skin is revealed, he suddenly remembers that summer has already ended – that the sun has set – that the villagers who dare to enter his house always shiver, though they're never bold enough to complain.

There is only one option left, and Seiryuu is reluctant. Holding the small dragon while it had been covered had been fine, but like this? With its skin against his? Human contact is something he only experiences in the heat of battle, covered in blood and bearing his teeth.

Finally, the noise becomes too much. Careful of the dragon's flailing limbs, Seiryuu once more picks up the child, even more cautious now of holding it firmly, to stop the wriggling body from falling. It's difficult to hold it in his arms as he'd done before, so he presses the child against his chest, gently, to make sure it has no way of escaping.

Surprisingly, this seems to work. A few subdued sobs later, the dragon is once again quiet, its tiny hands now calmly exploring the bandages covering Seiryuu's abdomen. This is about the time that the older dragon realises something very important. In fact, he realises several important thing which will make his life very hard.

Number one, he has no milk. The villager had promised anything he would require, but had left before telling or giving Seiryuu anything else. He also had no idea who the child's mother was – not that he wanted to know, but would she be feeding him? If not her, then who?

Number two. There was a very distinct smell coming from the direction of the dragon, and Seiryuu had an idea of what he was supposed to do about it, but the act of actually doing it was completely foreign to him. Also, the dragon was wearing a cloth that was at the moment hiding the source of the smell, but no replacement had been given.

What the hell is he supposed to do now.

The smart thing, the logical thing, to do, would be to go out to find the villager and demand he be given the supplies he'd been promised. There's only one problem, and that's the now quiet but still very much awake baby that he's holding close to his chest. He can't take it with him, not without something to keep it warm and alive, and he can't leave it here by itself – he's pretty sure that would be deadly.

So, he has a baby dragon that has soiled itself, and no proper replacement cloth to tidy things up. The only sensible thing to do now is to find something else that would do the job until he found a better solution.

"Stay quiet for a while, okay," Seiryuu tells the child, laying it down on the bed, trying to be gentle so it wouldn't start screaming again. Somehow, it works. Looking out through wet lashes, the child seems calm for now. It also looks curious. "Good," Seiryuu says gruffly, which makes the child laugh. Weird.

One small problem taken care of, Seiryuu turns toward the next. He doesn't have a lot of clothes, and he's not sure any of them are soft enough to be used as baby clothes. Or maybe…

He starts walking toward the closet, kicking a chair out of the way, then stops when he hears suspicious noises coming from the dragon. He turns around.

"What."

The child blinks at him, silent. For a moment, Seiryuu stares back, studying it through narrowed eyes.

Still, silence.

Satisfied, Seiryuuu turns around again, intending to get the softest fabric he has, but he is once again distracted by a noise. This time he doesn't bother turning around. It's a mistake.

Loud wailing reaches his ears. He decides there's nothing to be done about it, but nonetheless rushes to get what he needs, in the process knocking his knee against the table. Damn it, he a warrior! He's killed more than he can count, has enough blood on his hands that some days he thinks it won't ever wash off, and this is what makes him clumsy? Pathetic.

"Are you happy now?" Seiryuu asks grumpily. He knows he's being grumpy and there's nothing to be done about it so he decides to own it. The child continues bawling, even redder in the face than before. It looks even uglier now.

Seiryuu doesn't want to pick it up again. He also doesn't want to smell the full disaster in the baby's diaper.

Logic wins out eventually. If he does it later, the smell will probably be much worse. So.

"Do you have to keep doing that," he mutters, reaching out to place his hand on the child's belly to keep it still. It's warm, warmer than he'd expected. And still so tiny. His hand has never looked so huge. "Aren't you tired yet?"

Apparently not.

Sighing, Seiryuu leans forward even more, focusing on removing the cloth that is currently protecting his nose from horrible, horrible things. He pulls on one corner, then another. Who the fuck did this? Is it not supposed to open? He considers just tearing the thing off, but that would most likely hurt the dragon, and he's had enough crying.

Speaking of the dragon, it appears to have calmed down. Suspicious. Seiryuu glances up, then regrets it when his hair is pulled painfully. He grunts, leaning down again. The child keeps holding the hair, studying it.

Seiryuu considers a way to get it free. A simple but devious plan comes to mind immediately. He grins, perhaps showing more teeth than is considered friendly.

Taking a lock of his own hair, he uses it to tickle the dragon's stomach. The baby opens it mouth, blinks, says, "Ah."

Disappointed, Seiryuu tries again, but no better results. Damn. At least it's not crying though. Small victories. For now, he's just going to ignore the hair. He has enough problems.

"You win," he admits, glaring at the dragon. It blinks back at him before focusing on the hair again. Figures.

Continuing to study tightly wrapped cloth, Seiryuu pulls it from different directions until one side gives. From there, it's surprisingly easy to unwind.

The smell that follows is even worse than he'd imagined. Battlefields he's used to, but in his own home? That's going too far. He's never been one for speaking to himself, but it seems appropriate to mutter to himself. He can pretend it's for the dragon's benefit.

Figuring the fabric is already ruined, he uses it to clean up the rest of the way, wiping gently and trying not to get it on his hands. When it becomes clear cloth is not enough, he uses some of the boiled water that has now cooled significantly, that he'd been meaning to make the day's dinner out of, and finishes the job. Good. Everything looks clean.

"You'll learn to do that on your own soon," he says, half threatening, half pleading. Unfortunately, he knows it won't be for another few years.

There's a knock at the door. Again. He weighs the chances of the dragon starting to cry again if left behind. Better to take it along.

He covers the dragon's naked body with the blanket it'd been swaddled in, hoping against hope that it won't be soiled in the brief time it will take to scare away the person stupid enough to knock on his door tonight. This is the most visitors he's had in years.

"Lord Seiryuu, these are the supplies you were promised," is the first thing to come out of the villagers mouth, the same villager that had handed him a baby dragon only half an hour ago. "We will be leaving proper nourishment for the child-" this time he doesn't hesitate to call it a child, only wincing momentary. "- every morning."

Seiryuu stares at the basket being handed to him. He positions the dragon so it's once again safely in the crook of his elbow, and grabs the basket with his newly freed hand without further question, not wanting to let on how grateful he is that it had come now, and not later. Now, he is saved from using the soft blanket as a diaper. He's certain he would never have got the smell out of it, leaving it unusable. He ignores the expectant look on the villagers face and once again shuts the door in his face.

"Look what we got," he mumbles at the child as the retreating footsteps of the villager sound. "They're being awfully friendly." This is said with a sneer, which makes the child pull at his hair. Seiryuu had almost forgotten that he is now a slave to a baby. "Stop that," he snarls, but it has no affect.

As punishment, he tries to lay the burden on the bed. This is met with distressed noises and hair yanking. "How the fuck am I supposed to change your diaper with you doing that?!" Seiryuu once again snarls, before flopping down to sit on the bed. As a compromise, he struggles to settle the child on his lap without dropping it or making it pull on his hair. It requires tremendous effort.

Hands free, he is now able to sort through the contents of the basket. A bottle of milk, with a note instructing to warm it to body temperature. A pile of fabric, most likely to be used as diapers. Some fabrics that are most likely clothes. Another blanket.

No toys.

Seiryuu seethes at this, even though it had been predictable. The villagers have given him a house, because they don't want him living near their own people. They have given him food, because they don't want him to starve to death. Clothes for decency. The mask to cover his curse markings. Bandages to make sure he doesn't bleed out. The only thing he owns that hadn't been given to him by them is the sword, indeed all the weapons he has, because they come from the would-be attackers of the village, dead by his own hand before they reach it.

"I'll make you something," he promises gruffly, after putting away everything except the diaper. Of course, the dragon doesn't understand him, only cooing with curiosity. That's reassuring. Everything's okay, the dragon doesn't understand anything yet. Seiryuu doesn't have to start preparing it for the villagers. Doesn't have to act cruel. Not yet.


End file.
